


The Punishment

by s0mmerspr0ssen



Series: Punishment [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, M/M, Object Insertion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0mmerspr0ssen/pseuds/s0mmerspr0ssen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has been seeing a woman lately. Mycroft won't have any of it. After all, John belongs to Sherlock. To remind John of his place, a punishment seems to be in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Punishment

John awakes on cold concrete and immediately realises two things:

One - This isn't Baker Street. Not at all.

Two - He isn't wearing any clothes. He is naked. Completely naked.

Immediately, panic tries to take over and only his combat training kicking in helps John keep his eyes closed and his breathing neutral.

 _You can deal with this. Just stay calm._

The last thing John remembers is going out to do the shopping. Then, his memories become fuzzy. Has he been kidnapped? Probably. There simply isn't any other explanation for this. He tries to move his hands and feet ever so slightly and notices that his hands are bound together in front of his chest but his feet and legs are free. He could run - if he gets the opportunity.

"Ah, you're awake, Dr. Watson."

The voice is frighteningly familiar and a chill runs down John's spine. His eyes snap open and when he looks up, he has to blink against an artificial light until a dark form appears and shields John's eyes from brightness. When his irises finally adjust to the new environment, John's initial suspicion is proven right.

It's Mycroft. Sherlock's older brother.

"What- what is going on?" John croaks.

His mouth is dry and the words come out slightly slurred. Drugs, maybe strong sedatives - they have given him _something_ and now it has nearly worn off.

"That is a very good question, Dr. Watson. Or may I use your first name, John? We are already acquainted after all."

"What the fuck is going on?" John says and his voice sounds a bit more steady now.

He still can't yell but he can sound angry. Angry and scared, he notices and tries not to cringe at the latter. There must be a good explanation for this. Maybe Mycroft is here to help him; maybe he is just as inconsiderate as Sherlock and wouldn't know that the first order of the day should be untying John and giving him some clothes.

"You see, John," Mycroft replies and the way his voice is suddenly icy and utterly dangerous makes John abandon any hope of Mycroft having come to his rescue. "You have betrayed my brother. I don't like it when people betray me or members of my family."

John struggles to sit up. Eventually, he somehow manages to.

He feels vulnerable and exposed and his tied arms come down automatically in front of him as he tries to hide his nakedness, especially his genitals. He feels too weak to fully stand but kneeling is better than lying on the floor. Lying is so much more dangerous, so much more exposing.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he says and glares up at Mycroft.

Mycroft looks much the same as the last time John has seen him. Immaculate suit, meaningless expression and an umbrella in his right hand. He smirks. It doesn't look friendly.

"Of course you don't, John," Mycroft says. "I shall enlighten you, however. I know you aren't very clever. I honestly don't know how Sherlock can stand your oafishness."

John suddenly feels entirely helpless and has to fight the urge to lash out, to do _something_.

  
He knows that he is supposed to keep calm until he fully understands the circumstances. But the whole situation is just so wrong, so unlike anything he has ever encountered in his life, that the urge to panic is close and pressing.

He shouldn't be here. This shouldn't be happening.

Mycroft suddenly steps closer and John has a hard time fighting his instincts that scream at him to make a run for it, to at least move away from that man. Goose bumps rise on his arms. Everything around him smells of danger.

 _Mycroft_ is dangerous.

The man raises the umbrella and the head is pointed at John's chest as if taking aim.

"You are seeing a woman at the moment, John. Sarah, your boss. Why would you do that?"

John nearly laughs at that, at the sheer ridiculousness of the question.

"Why am I seeing her? I am _a human being_ , am I not allowed to date other people?"

Mycroft looks at him intensely.

"Not if you have moved in with my brother and thus made a promise of exclusiveness to him."

John gapes at him. Mycroft isn't - he isn't - has the man lost his mind?

"What is- Sherlock and I are _not_ dating."

Mycroft chuckles. He sounds genuinely amused.

"Of course not. Sherlock doesn't date - he _claims_. You are his. Just because he hasn't indulged in sexual intercourse yet doesn't mean you are allowed to go and see other people when you feel like it."

John is struck speechless. He simply doesn't know what to reply to that. This cannot be real. This cannot be happening. It has to be a bad dream, a nightmare. A totally fucked-up nightmare.

"It is obvious you couldn't wait to _fuck_ ," Mycroft tells him and the way he says _fuck_ sends another chill down John's spine.

It sounds wrong and entirely filthy. It isn't a word John would have ever expected to come out of Mycroft Holmes' mouth. For the first time in weeks, John's leg starts to tremble again. It hurts.

"Mycroft, this is insane," John says and his voice sounds absolutely pathetic and scared. "You've got to stop this. Now."

Mycroft laughs - actually laughs - and suddenly, the wooden end of the umbrella is placed on John's chest.

"Of course I won't stop this. I have to ensure that your _needs_ are met so that you don't have to commit adultery again. Of course, _fucking_ is not an option but maybe - _being_ fucked, yes?"

And then, the end of the umbrella puts real pressure onto his chest and John has the choice between sharp pain and helplessly being pressed onto his back. John choses the pain because lying on his back will expose him, will take away any piece of decency he has left.

Mycroft sees trough his plan at once, of course. Any Holmes would. With arched eyebrows, the umbrella tip is moved to his scarred shoulder.

John is on his back in less than three seconds. He is a strong man, he can endure a lot of pain, but his shoulder is so tender, so sensitive that the lightest pressure can cause excruciating pain. Mycroft isn't using _light_ pressure with his umbrella.

Now, John is lying on his back, hands still bound and he knows, just knows that Mycroft enjoys the view, enjoys John's vulnerability. And suddenly, the full impact of Mycroft's words hit him - _being fucked_. He wants to rape him. Mycroft is going to _rape_ John.

He can't lie here and take this.

John starts to crawl backwards at once, wanting to get as far away from the other man as possible. Mycroft just laughs again and suddenly there are hands, strong hands, and they hold John's legs down and take his tied-up arms and pull them over his head. His hands are fastened somewhere above him until John cannot move away anymore.

The hands vanish and John is panting heavily from the fight he has put up.

Of course, Mycroft wouldn't be alone.

Of course, Mycroft has helpers.

Mycroft has come closer again with his umbrella. That _fucking_ umbrella. John still has his legs so he kicks in Mycroft's general direction. The man simply _tsk_ s his tongue and steps aside a bit to avoid the impact.

"You can fight this, John," he explains. "You can fight this and I will have my men hold you down during the entire process. Or you can take this like a soldier. It's your choice."

John imagines what it will feel like - being raped while being held down, with no chance of controlling what was happening, no way of adjusting, of making it at least the tiniest bit more bearable.

Slowly, John lets his legs sink and presses them together to at least ruin Mycroft's view. For a while.

"Smart move," Mycroft acknowledges. "Now, let's get started."

John expects him to put down the umbrella and undress but he doesn't. He crouches down in front of John instead, umbrella still in his hand.

"I have thought about this for a while, John," he says and his voice is all business as if he is talking about a treaty between two countries or a dinner party with ambassadors or whatever being the British government includes. He doesn't sound like he is talking about rape. "I have come to the conclusion that simply _fucking_ you will not do. You're not really worth the effort."

And with that, his hands are on John's knees and he pulls them apart and with clenched teeth, John lets it happen because really - does he have a choice? He has already _made_ the choice. He will take this, simply take this.

Mycroft kneels in between his legs and then his hand, his _slick_ hand is on John's cock and John wants to shout or cry and kick and scratch.

But he doesn't. He doesn't even wonder when the man has had the time to lubricate his hand because that very hand is now curling almost gently around John's penis and starts to move up and down, slowly and in a perfectly steady rhythm.

John feels himself getting hard.

He really should have expected Mycroft to be good at giving hand jobs. A Holmes would be fucking brilliant at everything he tries.

John hates himself for getting off on this, for getting hard and even pushing into Mycroft's hand after a while because God, it feels marvellous, absolutely marvellous the way Mycroft's thumb rubs over the very top of his cock.

John has to bite down hard on his lips to keep himself from moaning, has to make himself remember that he doesn't want this, doesn't want this at all.

"I knew you'd enjoy this," Mycroft tells him, his voice still perfectly normal. John can't really focus on his face but he knows, just knows that Mycroft is still smirking and nothing else. "That's what you were looking for with Sarah after all."

And then he stops and John almost whines at the loss of friction. He looks down and sees Mycroft move and hears the smacking sounds of lubricant. But Mycroft hasn't undressed, hasn't even unzipped his trousers so what is he needing the lubricant for?

Suddenly there is a foreign and hard pressure at John's entrance and this time, John does whine and moan. Finally, he has realised why Mycroft has not once put away his umbrella. He's going to use it. Mycroft is going to use his umbrella to _penetrate_ John.

"Please, d-don't," John stutters and his voice sounds clogged as though he is about to cry. "P-please don't do this, Mycroft, _please_!"

When he pushes in, John moans loudly.

Mycroft could be doing it worse, more cruelly. He could simply push in and not care whether or not he hurts John.

He is taking his time however, gently moving the tip in circles to stretch and stimulate the muscle. John's cock twitches in interest and the doctor has never hated his body, his treacherous body as much as today.

"Object penetration can be very enjoyable. Isn't that true, John?"

The very top is nearly all the way there now, painfully close to his prostrate and at his entrance, John can already feel the beginnings of fabric of the actual umbrella that would form the shield against the rain if it was opened. When the polished wood finally brushes the spot, John sobs and moans - loudly and shamefully.

He starts to beg again.

"Please don't, please stop, oh _please_ , Mycroft, please!" slowly becomes "Please... _oh..._ please..." and John's doesn't know any longer whether he is pleading for Mycroft to stop or continue. It feels completely awful and frighteningly wonderful all at once, the way the hard wood hits that wonderful spot over and over again, the way his muscles clench around the base of the smooth umbrella end.

His cock is getting hard, harder than ever and it throbs heavily where it is brushing against John's stomach. He can feel the pre-come slowly ooze onto his skin, can feel it leave a sticky trail all over his lower stomach.

Soon, it will be over. Soon, he'll orgasm and by now, John is so painfully close he is sure he might cry in relief when it finally happens. A small voice in his head wishes the other man would touch his cock again.

All of the sudden though, Mycroft removes the umbrella, removes the pressure, removes any kind of friction that he has provided John with before. He whines loudly and he can hear himself shout _"No!"_. His cheeks start to burn in shame because that's wrong, he shouldn't have shouted that.

He doesn't want this. Mycroft is _raping_ him. Maybe not really, not with his actual body but using an object doesn't make it any less intrusive, any less personal, any less horrible. John doesn't want this to happen. But then, why is he so hard, so _fucking_ close to coming and so _fucking_ needy?

"Gorgeous," Mycroft says and John blinks up at him. He realises that tears have blurred his vision. They haven't actually rolled yet but they will, probably soon. Very soon.

"Please," John manages in his haze of lust and fright, "please."

"I can see now why Sherlock is so enraptured by you," Mycroft continues as if he hasn't even heard John's pleas. "You are quite lovely when you are like this: all sweaty and horny." He pauses. "Turn him around."

The hands are back and they free his arms briefly to turn him around and John whimpers when for a few seconds his hard cock meets cold concrete. For a moment he is tempted to rub his erection against the floor but he can stop himself early enough. He still has his dignity. He does.

His arms are fastened again and now, John can see that it is a kind of metal pole and that they are back in the very warehouse he has first met Mycroft in. Further away, the sleek black car awaits its owner.

The hands ensure that he is kneeling, not lying on his stomach and then they are gone once more. John somehow never sees their faces.

"This is supposed to be a punishment as well, of course," Mycroft says and the end of the umbrella brushes over John's butt cheeks, outlines them as if he is trying to paint a picture in the air. "I can't have you simply enjoying yourself now, can I?"

The first whack surprises John and he yelps before he can bite down on his lips once more. His eyes are stinging. He isn't crying, however, not yet.

"Count," Mycroft only says.

He doesn't have to say _"or else"_. It's perfectly clear that Mycroft can come up with something horrible or, even worse, _logical_ that will make John do it anyways, will make him comply all by himself.

"One," he breathes and another whack with the umbrella brings a stinging pain to his arse.

Two, three and four are endurable.

With number five, John starts crying.

He sobs his way trough his supposed punishment but the pain isn't really what makes the doctor cry. It's the fact that throughout the whole process, during every whack, his erection never falters, never decreases. His cock is standing erect between his thighs like the pole he is tied against. That doesn't change until the end.

"Tw-twenty," John sobs and finally, Mycroft's hand is back on his cock. John knows he wants it there, wants to be released from that horrible pressure between his legs and hates himself for it.

Clever fingers work the base, the top, his balls and it doesn't even take half a minute before John comes. His scream turns into another sob as his cock pulses and shoots and shoots until it slowly turns limp once more. Mycroft's hand never leaves until John is fully milked.

For a minute or so, everything is silent. The only noise John hears is his own frantic breathing. His butt cheeks hurt. They're burning and John knows they will bruise badly and that he won't be able to sit down for days without pain.

Finally Mycroft speaks up again: "I hope you have learned your lesson, John. Do not make me repeat this. Sherlock would be most displeased, I am sure. You are his and his alone."

His vision is blurry but John can still make out Mycroft's hand in front of his face. It's covered in John's semen that has already started to dry.

"Lick it clean," Mycroft orders.

And John does.


End file.
